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carewyncromwell · 2 years

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“Riff raff -- street rat -- I don’t buy that! If only they’d look closer... Would they see a poor boy? No, siree... They’d find out there’s so much more to me...”

~“One Jump Ahead (reprise)” from Aladdin

x~x~x~x

Despite being very happy in Slytherin, Carewyn didn’t make any friends in her own house in her first two years at school, aside from her best friend, Rowan Khanna. In her own dormroom, she had to rest her head beside Liz Tuttle (who seemed amiable enough, but was painfully shy), Ismelda Murk (a rather sadistic sort who turned Carewyn right off), and Merula Snyde (Carewyn’s school enemy likely for the rest of eternity). As for the boys, most of them seemed like total idiots, prone to drinking faulty potions just to prove they could -- and the biggest idiot of them all seemed to be the one called Barnaby Lee.

Barnaby Lee was a tall, brawny sort with russet-colored hair, a square jawline, and ears that popped out from his head a bit like a troll’s. A troll was honestly the best comparison point Carewyn could make for him upon first meeting -- when Merula introduced him and Ismelda Murk as her new “friends” at the beginning of their third year, the first thing he said to Carewyn was that if she messed with Merula, he’d vanish all the bones in her body. Carewyn, perfectly unintimidated despite his muscles and superior height, couldn’t help but sass him.

“If you stay friends with Merula, I won’t have to do anything to you. I reckon that’ll bring you more than enough misery.”

Yet Barnaby seemed to completely miss her point.

“Not when Merula, Ismelda, and I find the Cursed Vaults!” he said conversationally, as if Carewyn hadn’t just insulted him. “What’s inside those Vaults is going to make me stronger -- Merula said so. And if doing what Merula says is the only way I can get to them, I’ll do what I have to.”

Carewyn crossed her arms, cocking an eyebrow coolly. “Merula told you you’d only get to the Cursed Vaults by following her orders?”

No one could possibly be that stupid. And yet Barnaby, it seemed, was. When Carewyn actually had the audacity to ask if Merula could just be lying to take advantage of him, the way she did with everyone, Barnaby looked so taken aback and confused that he strode away, his face scrunched up in a tight frown.

“Don’t try to make me think, Cromwell.”

Carewyn put Barnaby Lee out of her mind after that discussion, at least until she met Tulip Karasu. Carewyn ended up helping Tulip ward off Barnaby and Ismelda with a Jumbo Dumgbomb so that Carewyn could get Merula’s key to Jacob’s room, and after Carewyn and Tulip successfully warded off the boggart that had taken over the abandoned room, the two set about looking through Jacob’s old notes for clues. After some investigation, including doing some reconnaissance in the Library with Bill, Carewyn came to the conclusion that the next Vault had to be inside the Restricted Section of the Library -- and that the broken wand and scribble-ridden book that had been left behind in the Ice Vault had to have been left there to help them open it! Tulip was thrilled -- and, as it turned out, she had an idea of dealing with another problem: namely, Merula trying to stop them from entering the Vault.

“Remember Barnaby Lee?” Tulip asked.

Carewyn frowned. “Merula’s own personal troll guard? Of course.”

Tulip smirked. “Barnaby might not be that smart, but he is strong. Maybe the toughest wizard in our year. On top of that, he’s someone Merula’s confided in -- he’ll know her really well, and he’ll know what her plans are.”

As much as he can know anything, I suppose, Carewyn thought dryly.

Carewyn considered this. Barnaby certainly seemed pretty stupid...but at the same time, he didn’t seem half as malevolent as either Ismelda or Merula were. For as comfortable as he was about violence, he’d responded so...well, innocently, upon being confronted with the thought that Merula could be lying to him -- almost as if he himself was so dim that lying wasn’t something he would ever think of doing himself.

He seems really dumb, Carewyn thought to herself, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s just so dumb that he never even considered doing anything other than what Merula told him to do...

Carewyn’s light blue eyes drifted off to the wall thoughtfully.

“Hm, well...as much as Barnaby’s kind of brought this on himself, for following along with Merula’s whims, just to try to make himself stronger,” she said at last, “it does seem pretty rotten, that Merula’s able to take advantage of him, just because she can.”

She nodded determinedly. “Okay. I’ll try to talk him around.”

He wouldn’t be able to help Merula stop us, if he agrees to help us instead, after all.

Tulip gave Carewyn an encouraging nod. “You can do it, Carewyn Cromwell. Just do what you did with me, the other day.”

Carewyn blinked. “What, you mean, be a decent human being?”

Tulip gave a short laugh. “Well, sure! You got me to open up, didn’t you? Still don’t fully know how you managed it...but you made me feel heard. Like you cared.”

Despite the smirk on her face, her black eyes glinted with something a bit more sincere.

“Just be everything you are that Merula isn’t. Let Barnaby see that you’re the better choice.”

With this advice in hand, Carewyn went to go talk to Barnaby in the Great Hall. His response to her sincerest, kindest attempt to coax him onto her side, however, was not what she had expected.

And so that was how Carewyn Cromwell ended up on the Training Grounds with Barnaby Lee, dueling for nearly an entire hour until Barnaby was finally beaten down enough to accept defeat.

Once Carewyn had reversed his Full Body-Bind, she immediately took hold of Barnaby’s arm and extended it out toward her.

“Uh...what are you doing?” asked Barnaby, confused.

Carewyn shushed him. “Hold still. Ferula.”

She set about bandaging the cuts she’d inflicted on his arm -- then she set about trying to fix Barnaby’s sleeve, which had gotten ripped and burned by the same attack.

“Reparo. Scourgify.”

A couple of delicate sparks of light puffed out of Carewyn’s wand and sealed up around Barnaby’s arm. Barnaby blinked in surprise at his magically repaired, but still blood-stained sleeve.

“I’m sorry -- I don’t know any Charms strong enough to get rid of those stains yet,” Carewyn apologized lowly, “but at least it’s a little better than it was...”

Barnaby blinked again at Carewyn, looking that bit more confused than ever. Without paying him any mind, the tiny redhead set about bandaging and cleaning up his other arm and shoulder. By the time she was finished bandaging it, Barnaby finally seemed to have collected his thoughts.

“...Hm,” he said at last. “I always thought you had to be mean to hurt somebody that badly...”

Carewyn frowned deeply even as she finished cleaning Barnaby’s other sleeve.

“It’s not nice to hurt people,” she said very firmly. “But you said I had to beat you in order to get you to help me...so I did what I had to.”

Barnaby considered this. “So you did something you didn’t want to do, just to get what you wanted...”

His face then burst into an oddly bright grin. “...Merula was wrong! You do act like a Slytherin."

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly. “Merula’s wrong about a lot of things.”

Once she’d finished what she was doing, she tucked her wand back in her robes, looking up at the taller Slytherin critically.

“So, Barnaby? Are you going to keep your word and help me instead of Merula?”

Barnaby rolled his sleeves back up where they’d been before, that brighter smile still blazing on his face. “As long as we can celebrate our partnership with a Butterbeer.”

Carewyn raised an eyebrow at this, but ultimately decided there was no harm in it and shrugged. She’d honestly prefer a conversation over fighting, anyhow.

“All right.”

~*~

Once Carewyn had shed her full robes, she met Barnaby in Hogsmeade, right outside the Three Broomsticks. When she arrived, the blood on his sleeves had been cleaned up.

“Madam Rosmerta saw the fresh bloodstains on my sleeves and asked if I’d been in a fight,” Barnaby said brightly. “I told her I was! I had to reassure her that the blood was mine, though -- she’d looked really worried, when she heard I was fighting you...”

Rosmerta did indeed look a bit relieved to see Carewyn, when she brought them each a pint of butterbeer.

“On the house,” she said.

Carewyn immediately tried to protest, but Rosmerta merely smiled and gave her a light tap to the nose.

“No ‘buts,’ young lady,” she said, her smile becoming a bit wryer. “Consider this a bit of encouragement for both of you to settle your differences with words and not wands.”

As she bustled off, Barnaby smiled.

“That was awful nice of her,” he said conversationally as he picked up his glass. “I always like a Butterbeer after dueling -- they say it heals bruises and broken bones.”

Carewyn squinted at him in bewilderment. “Who said that?”

Barnaby’s eyes drifted up toward the ceiling thoughtfully. “...I can’t remember. I’m sure someone probably said it...”

He brushed this thought away as he took a long gulp of Butterbeer.

“Anyway...thanks for such a great duel!” he said. “I can see how you beat Merula twice...just a shame I didn’t get to see them myself...”

“They really weren’t that exciting,” Carewyn dismissed politely as she too took a sip from her mug.

She paused. Then, despite herself, she couldn’t help but ask, “How did you even get involved with Merula anyway?”

Barnaby shrugged as he took a sip of Butterbeer. “We have a lot in common, with her parents and mine both being...you know.”

Carewyn frowned. A murky memory returned to her mind -- Rowan in their first year, telling her a terrible secret about Merula’s parents...

She stiffened. “Your parents were Death Eaters?”

Barnaby lowered his mug with a small frown.

“Why are you so surprised?” he asked as he wiped the white foam from his upper lip. “Everyone knows Slytherins have the most interesting childhoods. I reckon you probably have some Dark wizards in your family too, right?”

Carewyn crossed her arms uncomfortably. “Not really.”

Unless you count my mum’s father being a total creep.

“So does that mean that you agree with Merula?” she asked, her voice low with displeasure. “That Muggles are inferior, and Muggle-borns like Ben shouldn’t be allowed to go to Hogwarts?”

Barnaby looked thoughtful. “Well, I’ve never met a real Muggle before, so I don’t know about that...but Ben Copper seems okay. Kind of wimpy sometimes, but he’s nice. He helped me with my Charms homework once last year, when I was having trouble,” he added with a smile. “I was misreading the directions in the book, so he offered to read them aloud for me and then showed me how to do the wand movement right. He’s really good at Charms!”

Carewyn couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sincere praise of her friend.

“He is,” she agreed.

Knowing Barnaby didn’t seem to harbor any prejudice toward Muggles and Muggle-borns either made her relax that bit more. She took another sip of Butterbeer before pressing on.

“Muggles aren’t inferior, for the record,” she said very firmly.

Barnaby tilted his head to the side. “They’re not?”

“No,” said Carewyn. “My mum ran away from home to live in the Muggle World. She raised Jacob and me the Muggle way too. Muggles aren’t perfect, sure, but wizards aren’t either...and they’ve done a lot of amazing things too, things even wizards haven’t done.”

“Like what?” Barnaby said curiously.

“Well, they’ve been to the moon, for one.”

Barnaby’s eyes lit up. “Really? Did they meet the man who lives there?”

Carewyn gave a bewildered double-blink. “What man?”

“The Man in the Moon!” Barnaby said cheerfully. “I’ve heard people talking about him before. I reckon he’s got to be some wizard who got stuck up there a long time ago -- were the Muggles able to bring him back to Earth with them?”

Carewyn was so stunned she couldn’t stop herself from bursting into giggles.

“Oh -- no,” she choked out through her laughter. “No, the Man in the Moon -- that’s just an old children’s story, Barnaby! When Muggles first took pictures of the moon, they thought they saw a face carved into its surface...so people used to tell stories about a Man in the Moon!”

Instead of being discouraged by this, though, Barnaby’s eyes were brighter than ever. “I’ve done that before! I once saw a face in my shepherd’s pie, when I was a kid -- my dad smacked the back of my head with one of his shoes for crying while I was eating it.”

Carewyn’s mouth dropped open.

“He did what?” she gasped.

“Well, I was crying really hard,” Barnaby said self-deprecatingly. “But it was so tasty that I kept eating it, which kind of made me feel worse...”

Carewyn ignored this.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” she demanded concernedly. “When he hit you?”

“Huh? Oh, no -- not that badly,” Barnaby reassured her. “Dad got me light, that time.”

He looked startled when this only served to make Carewyn more upset.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “Dad just wanted to make sure I was strong, that’s all. Grandmum always reminds me of that too -- that only the strong survive and all. She’s not so strong physically, but she’s really good with curses, like Mum and Dad were.”

“Was she a Death Eater too?” asked Carewyn grimly.

“No -- Grandmum’s not a Dark witch, she really only collects stuff. That’s why I stay with her and Antioch now, over the holidays.”

“Antioch?”

“Grandmum’s crup,” Barnaby explained. He grinned as he added in a slightly lower voice, “I call him ‘Annie’ for short, though Grandmum hates it.”

Carewyn quickly stifled a smile behind her hand. Barnaby suddenly looked incredibly self-conscious and looked down into his Butterbeer.

“...Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much about myself to anybody before...” He looked up at Carewyn hesitantly. “...This isn’t weird for you, is it?”

“Of course not!” Carewyn said at once.

“Hm,” said Barnaby. He looked thoughtful. “Well, it is a little weird to me...”

Carewyn’s face became very serious.

“Barnaby...if there’s something you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Barnaby considered this. Then, looking slightly surer of himself, he said, “Does your mother scold you a lot, Carewyn?”

Carewyn frowned. “No.”

“Hmm...” Barnaby looked thoughtful. “What about your dad? Does he call you names? Do they collect Dark artifacts?”

“No,” said Carewyn, very confused. “My dad’s a Muggle.”

Barnaby looked sheepish.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to figure out if we have anything in common too -- like Merula and I do. You said you don’t have any Dark wizards in your family, though, and I know you’re not an only child like me, since you have your brother...”

His sincerity again surprised Carewyn.

It was so strange -- Barnaby had seemed so brutish and stupid, at first glance. Carewyn had followed Rowan’s example early on and seen him as akin to a troll, just stupidly following around after Merula and wrecking things left and right. And yet now, upon being shown basic human decency, he was opening up like a flower hungry for a bit of water and sunshine.

A prickle of pity flicked at the inside of Carewyn’s heart. She looked down into her own Butterbeer thoughtfully.

“...Well, what about interests?” she suggested. “You like to duel, right? Is Defense Against the Dark Arts your favorite subject?”

Barnaby rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Not really -- I almost got frozen trying to bust our last professor out of the cursed ice last year. And the professor this year’s almost never around...”

Carewyn sighed tiredly. That was true -- the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been paranoid about getting “taken out” by the curse affecting her predecessors and so had been largely replaced by about a dozen substitutes over the course of the term. No one knew whether her barely being around would protect her from the curse or not.

“What is your favorite subject, then?” asked Carewyn. “Herbology? Potions?”

Most Slytherins got some favoritism from Snape, after all.

Barnaby shook his head. “Mm, not really...I prefer Care of Magical Creatures.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened a bit. “Really?”

Barnaby looked rather self-conscious again.

“Well, it’s just -- all the tough creatures, you know,” he said forcefully. “The dragons, and the manticores, and things...”

Carewyn could pretty easily tell he was putting on airs, though. She smiled.

“I love Care of Magical Creatures,” she said earnestly.

Barnaby looked encouraged. “You do?”

“Yeah! Remember when Professor Kettleburn showed off that bonfire full of salamanders? I thought they were so beautiful, the way their eyes glowed.”

Barnaby’s eyes lit up as brightly as the salamanders’ eyes had. “Me too! I so wanted to hold one, even if Kettleburn said that they’d burn your hands, if you weren’t wearing the proper equipment...but they were just so cute!”

Carewyn’s face burst out into a huge, bright smile. Almost immediately Barnaby seemed to lose his nerve and he flushed.

“I mean -- um...”

Feeling some compassion for how uncertain he looked, Carewyn cut his stammers off gently.

“They were really cute,” she said, and her bright grin broadened further as Barnaby’s ears reddened. “I was so jealous that Liz Tuttle managed to get one to crawl up her arm.”

The light returned in full to Barnaby’s eyes, more excited than ever. “Me too! And that Charlie Weasley got one to roll over for him too -- I reckon the salamander must’ve liked him comparing her to a Chinese Fireball...”

Carewyn beamed. “Charlie’s brilliant, when it comes to dragons. I reckon that’s why everyone on the Quidditch pitch compares him to a Peruvian Vipertooth.”

“Oh, right -- because they’re the smallest and the fastest!” Barnaby laughed. “That’s smart! I don’t really know much about Quidditch...my parents were never really that interested in it.”

“What did you and your parents like to do together?” Carewyn asked as gently as she could. “Like, for fun.”

Barnaby considered this. “Mm, well...they didn’t do much of anything special with me, really, besides have meals and teach me lessons. They dropped me off at Granmum’s a lot of the time, when I was really little.”

He paused.

“...My dad did introduce me to You-Know-Who, once,” he admitted at last, very lowly.

Carewyn’s eyes grew very, very wide.

“You actually met him?” she whispered.

Barnaby lowered his gaze down to the table between them.

“I saw him, anyhow,” he said quietly. “My dad met with him at our house when I was little. I’d poked my head in to find out who was in, and that’s when my dad told him who I was.”

Carewyn tried to imagine a tiny Barnaby, eclipsed in the shadow of such a foreboding, monstrous man. It was a chilling thought.

“...You must’ve been so scared,” she said, her voice soft and weak in its horror.

The memory of her You-Know-Who boggart, and the fear his heartless scarlet eyes had instilled in her, rushed over Carewyn like a cold wave.

Barnaby shook his head. “Mm, at first, yeah. But my dad admired him. And looking at him closely...well, he looked kind of funny, to be honest. Super pale with these bony, old-man fingers -- no hair, no nose -- it made me think he must have a hard time enjoying any good food, if he can’t smell anything.”

Carewyn was so startled by Barnaby’s utter lack of fear that she gave a very short, strangled laugh. Then she went very quiet again, recalling again just how serious this whole thing was.

“He was the most powerful Dark wizard in the world, Barnaby,” she said very solemnly. “He killed so many people -- terrorized so many more...all with no remorse, and beyond reason...”

“I know,” said Barnaby. “But like I said, my dad admired him. And my dad always said that if I could become powerful like You-Know-Who, then I could do anything. I could do whatever I wanted, because no one would question my strength or try to stop me.”

Barnaby rested his muscular arms down on the table, his bottle green eyes once again falling down to his mug of Butterbeer.

“...Now that my dad’s in Azkaban...I’m just trying to keep doing that, like he said. Try to get stronger, so that I can do what I want to do.”

Carewyn stared at Barnaby, taking in the oddly pensive, melancholy look in his face. There was suddenly such a weight to his shoulders, like he was wearing some really heavy cloak someone else gave him that was way too big for him and didn’t suit him at all. It reminded Carewyn of her mother Lane, when she told her stories of her miserable life at the Cromwell estate...of needing to bury who she was and what she liked, just to fulfill her terrible parents’ expectations of her...

This is the boy I called Merula’s “troll guard?”

The thought made Carewyn feel sick. All this time she’d merely seen Barnaby Lee as too stupid to go against what Merula told him, but...truly, it seemed how Merula treated him was how he’d always been treated -- by his parents, by his grandmother. Like you had to be cruel in order to make people respect you, like strength and power were all that matter...like his feelings didn’t matter...

He wasn’t stupid at all, Carewyn realized. He just didn’t know that he was being treated so unfairly -- that he deserved better than how the people in his life had always treated him...that that “better” way even existed...

“Carewyn?”

Carewyn blinked, her eyes refocusing on Barnaby after having zoned out. The Slytherin boy’s square face had twisted up in a hesitant, confused expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Carewyn looked away at once, suddenly incredibly uncomfortable.

“I’m fine,” she said at once. “...Why?”

She asked this because Barnaby didn’t look fully convinced.

“It’s just...your face looked so sad, just then,” he said uneasily. “Like you saw something awful...something no one else can see.”

Her heart had been slowly softening to Barnaby for a while now, but it was these words, and the sight of Barnaby looking up at her with such genuine concern, that finally made it fold. Her blue eyes blazed with a kind of decisive, compassionate fire as she looked down at her own reflection in the glass in front of her.

“...Maybe I did.”

She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was both firmer and warmer than before.

“...I don’t know if your dad would agree with me, Barnaby...but I think you’re very strong.”

Barnaby blinked. “You do?”

Carewyn nodded. “Mm-hm. And not just because you’ve got big muscles, or you know a lot of spells. I think you’re strong because you’re loyal, and honorable, and honest too. I think you’re strong because...even if your parents are Death Eaters, you don’t look down on Ben for his heritage...and even if your dad always told you to act tough, you still think salamanders are cute.”

She beamed at him.

“I think you’re strong because you’re you...and that’s all there is to it. I think that’s pretty brilliant.”

Barnaby stared at Carewyn, looking both bewildered and a bit overwhelmed. Then, flushing with embarrassment, he grinned self-consciously.

“...You really are a very nice person, Carewyn,” he said, his bottle green eyes bright with validation. “I don’t get why Merula doesn’t like you at all.”

Carewyn gave a light huff. “Well, I don’t like her very much either. Or how she treats you.”

I didn’t like Merula taking advantage of Barnaby before, but to know all she’s really been doing is treating Barnaby the way his rotten family’s always treated him...

A surge of hatred toward Merula pulsed through Carewyn, even as she put down her now empty Butterbeer glass and gave Barnaby a more reassuring look.

“Come on,” she said as she got up from her seat. “Let’s head on back to the castle -- it’s getting late.”

“Do you want me to help you with the Vaults now?” asked Barnaby.

Carewyn was reminded of the exchange she’d had with Tulip, where the Ravenclaw had acted as though she’d fully expected her only to care about the Cursed Vaults, like Merula did.

“No,” said Carewyn. “I just don’t want us to get in trouble for breaking curfew.”

Barnaby looked sheepish again. “Oh yeah -- right...”

He got up from his chair too and started to follow Carewyn out of the Three Broomsticks.

“We’ll have plenty of time to deal with the Vaults later, after I’ve hashed out a plan with Bill,” she said reassuringly. “I know Tulip will want to help too, so we’ll have to figure out what time works best for all of us.”

Barnaby’s eyes drifted up toward the cloudy sky as they headed out the front door. “Hm, yeah...reckon Bill Weasley’s schedule’s probably a bit different than ours...and he’s taking his OWLs this year, right?”

Carewyn nodded. “Right. I don’t want to stress him out too much, around his exams...they’re so important, when it comes to his future as a Cursebreaker.”

“I don’t know if I’d want to be a Cursebreaker, myself,” Barnaby said thoughtfully. "But it is pretty cool that Bill’s so sure of himself -- what he wants to do. And he’s really strong too -- I’ve seen him at the Dueling Club, and he almost always wins.”

He grinned.

“Maybe now that you and I are working together, I could ask Bill to fight me next!” he said brightly.

Carewyn stifled a smile behind her hand. “Maybe you should phrase it as wanting to duel him, rather than fight him.”

She paused. Then her smile spread a bit more.

“I just figured out something we have in common,” she said. “We both think of other people’s feelings before our own.”

Barnaby blinked. Then his face brightened noticeably.

“...Yeah! Yeah, I guess that’s true!”

His emerald eyes squinted, just to make enough room for his broad smile.

“Say, Carewyn?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to stop by the Magical Creature Preserve on the way to Kettleburn’s class tomorrow? I found a Knarl in his burrow the other day, and he’s really friendly...I think Hagrid must’ve found him before me, for him to be so good around humans...”

The suggestion made Carewyn’s own smile and eyes brighten that bit more.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

And that was how Carewyn Cromwell and Barnaby Lee became such unlikely, but good friends seemingly overnight.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #my writing #barnaby lee #carewyn cromwell #tulip karasu #madam rosmerta #merula snyde #ismelda murk #liz tuttle #charlie weasley #lane cromwell #charles cromwell #rubeus hagrid #fanfiction #aesthetic

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remuslupinfest · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remus Lupin/Madam Rosmerta Characters: Remus Lupin, Madam Rosmerta (Harry Potter) Additional Tags: Old Flames, Old Friends, Friends to Lovers, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Indulgent descriptions of wine, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Exes, Confident Remus Lupin, Remerta?, Is that a ship name?, Rosmus, That sounds like a disease Summary:

The voice that rouses him from his thoughts is decidedly more feminine than Remus expects it to be. “Room for me?”

He looks up.

There she stands; for a moment, it is as though the years melt away and Remus is seventeen all over again. Rosmerta is smiling down at him, a bottle of the elf-made wine in her hand. The two of them used to drink wine together all those years ago, too...

#remus lupin #rosmerta #madam rosmerta #remus/rosmerta #hp rare pairs #remus lupin rare pairs #fanfic #remus lupin fest 2023

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theenchantedecho · 1 year

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Any news when the wedding bells will be ringing for Lucius and Narcissa? Or are they going for a long engagement?

The Longest Engagement: Love or Power, Who Will Triumph in the Magical Labyrinth?

Mesmerising magical folk, prepare to have your tea spilled! The simmering whispers have now evolved into a deafening roar about the indefinitely pending nuptials of our esteemed Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Education, the ever-debonair Lucius Malfoy, and his captivatingly mysterious, soon-to-be life companion, the Unutterably Enigmatic Unspeakable, Narcissa Black. Their engrossing saga, my dear readers, is tantalising us to the point of stupefaction!

The prolonged engagement of our dazzling duo, dear witches and wizards, has now outlasted even the considerable lifespan of an Acromantula's grandmother! This stretched-out love story has caused more furrowed brows than an unexpected Niffler invasion at Gringotts. Could our silver-tongued Malfoy have lost their wedding invitation within the treacherous mountains of parchment swallowing his ministry desk? Or, is our beguiling Narcissa luxuriating under her veil of mystery and delaying the sacred vows?

A fleeting source from within the Ministry, who wishes to be addressed only as 'the invisible quill,' gleefully states, "Malfoy is married to his ambition, not his affianced." Intriguing indeed, my friends, to realise that even in our enchanting world of magic, polyamory, alas, remains a far-fetched dream!

Hold on to your broomsticks, for there's more sizzling scoop! An unidentified, highly eccentric source, rumoured to have a beard that rivals Hagrid's, has provided us with a delectable tidbit. Apparently, Narcissa was observed in a rather intense tête-à-tête with Albus Dumbledore himself! An odd companion for a cosy little chat, wouldn't you say? Could this unexpected alliance have cast a shadow of discord on their seemingly idyllic relationship? The plot, my dear ones, thickens like a bubbling cauldron of undisturbed Polyjuice Potion!

Not to be outdone, our very own Warty Will, a permanent fixture at the Leaky Cauldron with an uncanny ability to blend into shadows, overheard a vague conversation. Madam Rosmerta, in her usual hushed tones, was discussing a 'delicate situation' that seemed to involve our very own betrothed duo. Has their enchanting engagement hit a stumbling block of unforeseen proportions? Our curiosity continues to be cruelly tantalised!

Meanwhile, amidst this symphony of speculation, our elusive lovebirds continue to revel in their sphinx-like silence. An audacious attempt by yours truly to glean some insight from Malfoy Manor was met with an icy glare from an unusually polished suit of armour, followed by the rather impolite slamming of grand doors. How very hospitable of them!

So, my loyal readers, what could be transpiring behind those imposing stone walls? Is Narcissa, skilled in the arts of the Unutterables, succumbing to cold feet, or has Lucius's ambitious political climb cast a darkening cloud over their approaching union? There remains no question that love in our magical realm is as predictably unpredictable as a Bowtruckle's mood swings.

Fear not, my inquisitive companions, your audacious guide, Rita, continues to tirelessly search, prod, and pry into the engrossing enigma that is the Malfoy-Black engagement. Until we meet again, may your firewhiskey always be strong, your Every Flavour Beans never be earwax, and your gossip as scandalous as a Dungbomb at a dinner party!

With the daring of a Hungarian Horntail and a dollop of

love,

Rita.

P.S. A little birdie (an actual birdie, not an Animagus, I checked!) perched on my window this morning. It warbled a tune that sounded suspiciously like "Trouble at Malfoy Manor". Now, one might dismiss it as a particularly creative Thrush, but remember, in our world, dear readers, even the birds have stories to tell!

Take, for instance, the scene reported by a spiky, but ever-so-entertaining Porlock stablehand from the last gathering at Malfoy Manor. As per his colourful account, Narcissa was seen subtly wiping away a tear during a particularly romantic song played by the magical quartet. A harmless display of sentimentalism or a hint of distress concealed beneath the veneer of a perfect society lady? One can only speculate.

And then, dear friends, we have our very own Agnes Nutt, the famous magical hairstylist, who, despite being as tight-lipped as a Grindylow about her client's secrets, let slip a hint. She mentioned a recent request for an 'emergency hair potion' by a frantic Narcissa. Could the stress of the elongated engagement be causing her gorgeous blonde tresses to lose their shine? Or could there be more to this sudden panic?

From the bustling lanes of Diagon Alley to the hushed parlours of the poshest magical residences, whispers about the Malfoy-Black engagement are echoing everywhere. From the bespectacled Witch Weekly subscriber in Muggle London to the elderly wizard downing his Firewhisky in the Hog's Head Inn, everyone has an opinion, an observation, or a scandalous theory about our betrothed pair.

In the heart of the magical London, a slightly tipsy house-elf named Dobby was heard mumbling something about his 'old master' and a 'big, big fight'. While house-elves are known for their loyalty, a few too many Butterbeers can make even the most tight-lipped amongst them spill a secret or two!

Such is the cloud of rumours and speculations that looms over our betrothed couple. But, remember, where there's smoke, there's usually a fire-breathing dragon. Or, in this case, an engrossing tale of love, power, and the labyrinthine paths they carve in the magical world.

Stay tuned, my curious companions, as we delve further into this labyrinth, navigating its twisty turns and unexpected dead-ends, in search of the elusive 'truth'. Until then, may your spells never backfire, your cauldrons never crack, and your love for gossip remain as insatiable as a Niffler in a room full of galleons!

With a conspiratorial wink and a toast to our next adventure,

Rita.

@aurcralux @lucmalfoy

#Anonymous #Narcissa Black #Lucius Malfoy #Lucissa #albus dumbledore #madam rosmerta #Dobby

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indigo-scarf · 1 year

Note

What about the rosmerta fic?

ask game

That was 'cause someone on Discord suggested McGonagall might comfort Rosmerta after Draco's Imperius saying, "Once Voldemort decides to use someone as a pawn, there is little chance of fighting that fate." — and it's like, on one hand Draco was Voldemort's pawn too, but on the other hand no, Rosmerta was Draco's pawn. And I was wondering how both of them would feel about that.

#ask game #madam rosmerta #draco malfoy

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the-al-chemist · 6 months

Text

The Lights That Never Go Out

Chapter 7: About Time

A/N: It wouldn’t be a proper British Christmas Eve without a trip to the pub. This chapter is for @thethreebroomsticksfic’s Yule Bash prompts ‘Hogsmeade’ and ‘mulled mead’.

Warnings: alcohol and references to war/character death.

24th December, 1998

There always was something special about Hogsmeade at Christmas; the thick blankets of snow that covered the roofs of its buildings and the twinkling lights that shone from their windows, the sound of carollers somewhere in the distance, and the smells of hot sugar and mulled wine wafting through the air from Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks.

The snow crunched under Artemis’ feet as she made her way down the cobbled village street in the direction of the inn, which had been decorated in boughs of greenery. A wave of warmth from the hearth washed over her as she opened the door, and behind the bar, Rosmerta put down the tankard of Butterbeer she was halfway through pouring.

“Merry Christmas, love,” she said to Artemis. “You look half-frozen. Let me just serve this and then I’ll get you something to warm you up. You like mulled mead, don’t you?”

Artemis was not going to say no to mulled mead, not when her fingers were as cold as they were now. She gratefully accepted the mug Rosmerta offered her, holding it in her hands to heat them before she took a sip.

“So,” said Rosmerta, leaning on the bar to talk to her, “is this a flying visit, or have you decided that you do want to stay here for Christmas after all?”

“I’m just dropping in to give you your present and say hi. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It won’t be a very relaxing Christmas here, it rarely is. Too much work.”

“I know, and I would have helped, but Charlie asked me to go to theirs,” Artemis said, raising her mug to her lips. “I get the feeling he sort of needs me there more than you need me here.”

That feeling might have been wishful thinking on Artemis’ part. With the way things were between her and Charlie at the moment, she wasn’t entirely certain that he needed her at all anymore. To others, their friendship must have looked the same as it always had, but it was obvious to her that something had changed. Their conversations had become stilted and their pauses awkward, the easiness they had always felt in one another’s presence replaced with something fraught, something tense and self-conscious. And it was her fault. It was all her fault.

Rosmerta smiled kindly. “Don’t you worry.” She conjured a cloth from thin air and started to wipe down the bar as she spoke. “I’m not surprised you want to be there for him. It’s only fair, all those times he’s been there for you when you needed him.”

That was true. Artemis had lost count of the times Charlie had been there for her when she needed it — when she needed him — most. On every path she took through the world, no matter how far from him she had been in distance, he had somehow been at her side each step of the way, stoic and solid and sure, making her feel like she belonged, like she mattered, like she was worthy of care, of…

“Love?” Rosmerta’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

Artemis wasn’t sure how to answer that question. The truthful answer was ‘no’, everything was not okay. Her memories of the war continued to haunt her, she panicked whenever she entered a room and the door closed behind her, Tonks was gone, Fred was gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about those too-few kisses she had shared with Charlie, and she couldn’t bring herself to start thinking about what that might mean. Thinking about it was too hard. If Artemis was being honest, it scared her.

It was easier not to think, and it was easier to lie.

“Nothing’s wrong, Ros. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Unfortunately for her, she had never been a good liar, and Rosmerta had always been good at discerning what was true and what wasn’t. Artemis could tell from the way the landlady put down her cloth and stared at her that she didn’t believe her in the slightest.

“You know,” said Ros, summoning another cup and filling it with more mead, “they say that if you have something on your mind, the best person to talk to about it is either your bartender or your hairdresser.”

Artemis wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have a hairdresser.”

“That’s a shame.” Madam Rosmerta picked up the second mulled mead and carried it with her as she walked out from behind the bar to the stool next to Artemis’ own. “Looks like you’ll have to make do with me, then.” She sat on the stool and took a sip of her drink, before placing it down on top of the bar and raising her eyebrows at Artemis. “Spill.”

The look on her face made it clear that Artemis wasn’t going to be able to avoid this conversation. Still, she couldn’t tell Rosmerta everything, after all, it was not only her secret to share. She sighed heavily, her breath rippling on the surface of her drink.

“I dunno,” she said eventually. “I just thought that with the war being over, everything would be sort of simple again. Easier and less scary, but that’s not how it is at all. Everything is just as hard, and everything keeps changing.”

“Things do change. But that’s not a bad thing. Change can be good.”

“It can be, but it isn’t always. And there are some changes, even if they are good, that are just…” She swallowed, despite the fact that she had barely touched her mead. “I’m still so frightened, Ros.”

Rosmerta’s eyes were wide and sympathetic. “What are you frightened of, love?”

“Lots of things. More things than I ever even thought to be frightened of before. Maybe it’s just me that’s changed. Maybe I’m just not brave anymore.”

Artemis was being serious, but Rosmerta chuckled.

“Now, that I’ll never believe,” she said. “You, love, are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Her words should have made Artemis feel proud, but instead they only made her feel like a fraud. They echoed in her ears, acutely familiar.

“That’s what Charlie said,” she told Rosmerta.

“Well, he’d know.”

But Artemis shook her head. “He’s wrong. Maybe I used to be, when I was younger. I hardly even got scared at all back then.”

“I remember. You were fearless,” said Ros. “But fearless doesn’t mean brave. I’d say that being afraid and still carrying on and doing the right thing is braver than not being afraid at all.”

“Yeah, I know. And I know I was probably a bit too bold and reckless, and I got into all sorts of trouble because of it, but… I miss it. Being fearless, I mean. I want that back.”

“You can’t get that back. I’m sorry. Everyone loses their fearlessness when they get older. It’s just one of those things that happens with time.”

“I’d rather be fearless than brave. Fearless is easier.”

Slowly, Madam Rosmerta raised one hand, using it to tuck a loose strand of Artemis’ hair behind her ear. Artemis looked down at her own hands.

“The things you’ve done and seen and been through… It’s no wonder you aren’t fearless anymore. You’d be mad if you were. But you aren’t mad, you’re just bold. Bolder and braver than anyone I know.”

“But—”

“You can take it or leave it, love, but brave is what you have now.” She leaned forward and gave Artemis a conspiratorial smile. “It’s good, I promise. Much better than fearless. Give it time, and you’ll think so, too.”

Artemis didn’t feel like she’d ever think that. Then again, she never had been much good at thinking. She still wasn’t good at thinking, even now.

She left the Three Broomsticks despondent. The snow was falling thick and fast, the way it rarely did in Ottery St Catchpole. She walked through the village without purpose, and before she realised it, she reached the fork of the path where a signpost pointed in the direction of Hogwarts School up the hill and Hogsmeade Station down it.

She looked up at the castle that stood watching over Hogsmeade, the castle that had been her home for almost seven years during her youth and a hell on earth for over seven hours earlier in the year. She had loved and she had lost, found friends and fought foes, had been challenged and been changed, all within its walls and on its grounds. Now, the castle itself had changed, had been half-destroyed and rebuilt again, and yet, it was still recognisable as Hogwarts, right down to the Thestrals she could just about see in the distance, frolicking in the snow in the shadow of the turrets and towers.

For a moment, she considered walking up there to get a closer look, but instead, she followed the path downhill, towards the station. The platform was empty, almost eerily quiet. The station clock read ten past ten, the way it had done for years. It was as if the station were…

Frozen in time.

Tears pricked at Artemis’ eyes. Years ago, when she was young and bold and reckless, she had stood here with Rowan, her best friend, even now that she was gone.

Now, Artemis was Charlie’s best friend. If it weren’t for her lingering love for Rowan and out of respect for her memory, perhaps she would call Charlie her best friend in return. She cared about him enough. He meant enough to her.

So, why couldn’t she just do as he asked and think about what it meant to kiss him, to want him to want her, to feel this new pull towards him that had never been there before?

Because, thought Artemis, she wasn’t ready to open the door to the truth of what she was feeling. She was afraid of what those feelings might mean, and what might change as a result. Facing that required bravery, but she had never needed to be brave before. She had only ever been fearless. Could she ever be that brave, as brave as Charlie and Rosmerta believed her to be? Could bravery really be better than fearlessness?

The sound of a train whistle echoed down the tracks, piercing through the cold air. Artemis jumped, and hastily rubbed her damp cheeks with the heel of her hand as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the platform. But though the doors opened, no one disembarked.

She was still entirely alone. The clock still read ten past ten.

Perhaps, if Artemis had been brave instead of fearless, Rowan would still be alive, would still be here, still with her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Once upon a time, she had lost her best friend to thoughtlessness. She couldn’t afford to let that happen again.

Turning her back to the station clock, Artemis walked down the length of the train, peering through each and every open door as she passed by the carriages until she saw the ticketmaster.

“Is this one going back to London?” she asked him. He nodded in response. “How long does it take?”

The ticketmaster hummed before relying, “Eight hours, give or take.”

It was nearly sunset. By the time that the train reached its destination, it would be gone midnight. It would be Christmas Day.

“It’s a Sickle for a single journey,” the ticketmaster told her. “You want a ticket or not?”

It took longer for Artemis to find a Sickle in her pocket than it did for her to answer. Once she had been handed her ticket, she found an empty compartment and opened the window. She took the seat nearest the open window and leaned against it, her breath fogging up the glass in front of her face.

Another whistle, and the train pulled away from the station, the tracks leading it away from Hogsmeade village and into the vast, snow-driven wilderness, the sound of the engine steadily chugging away. Artemis closed her eyes and took a breath of the cold, smoky air.

It was time for her to be brave. It was time for her to think.

#artemis hexley #charlie weasley #madam rosmerta #the three broomsticks #harry potter fanfiction #hpff #hphm fic #the lights that never go out #charlie weasley x oc

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